A Divine Darkness
by MoriartyisMadness
Summary: I was punctured. His venom filled me with feelings I had never known before. My life spilled out in sick shades of crimson at his touch. Lies, danger, dark truths and death was what encompassed James Moriarty- the world's most dangerous criminal mind. But no matter how much I wanted to hate him, I couldn't untangle myself from his elaborate web. Eventual Moriarty/OC
1. Moving to Baker Street

_ Moving to Baker Street_

I wasn't surprised to arrive in London under a heavy cover of clouds, with rain falling helplessly down on the busy city goers. I watched safely from inside a compact cab, incubated as best as one could expect- gazing out lazily as people ran with papers over their heads against the heavy torrents and smiling as they all scurried like mice running after one big block of cheese. Puddles the size of baby swimming pools were beginning to form in the worn crevices of the pavement- a tribute to London at it's best. At each passing street sign, one in particular flashed in my mind. _Baker Street_. It was going to be my new residence, a homely, small, and most importantly- _cheap_ adaptation where I would erect myself.

Times were tough, especially when one loses their job. Said job was a waitress at a cafe...but it still kept money in my pocket and eventually a large whole was burned there. Juggling getting a degree and keeping up regular attendance at a job was extremely difficult. I had no roommate to half the rent of my previous flat, and late night courses at the University killed me. It was only a matter of time before I had to think of new living arrangements, but I didn't know it would be so soon or that my boss would be such a git. And as far as I was concerned, cleaning tables and brewing coffee was no amazing career lost.

For 2 weeks I excised, seeking out adds and coming up empty and disappointed. Funds for school were slipping and I was beginning to give up my pursuit of ever getting an art degree. All my life I had lived through a pencil and dreamed of having my own gallery- but I doubted anything would become of me now. Reality had a way of sucking like that.

When my life in Dartford had taken a turn for the worst on all levels, I decided to pack up and move to London where I hoped things would get better. And regarding current events, I could say firmly that it was. Flat hunting wasn't as difficult as I thought and soon I had bought 221C Baker Street without looking back. From the pictures I gathered that it was a lowly place but I wasn't one to fear any spiders- I could make it my own. My bags were packed in 2 days, everything was taken control of- the first 2 months rent I had already paid in full to the land lady. Mrs. Hudson was a sweet woman from what I could tell on the phone, she chatted quite a bit but meant well. In truth, she reminded me of my mother who was some 1000 miles away on a cruise ship with my father. Early retirement.

My family was made up of explorers, we had moved 5 times before I was 18- never being able to stay in one place for long. Against my will, my mother forced me and my brother out to join her in ridiculous treks through England's finest bramble and my father took us on long drives just to see the country. _"The world is a beautiful place, and we're born to explore it."_ was his constant and famous phrase, one me and my brother had come to imitate in his humorous, dulcet tone. My baby brother, 20, still lived in Dartford with his boyfriend, Cedric. Billy had always been openly gay since 16, he was never one to hide anything- he was as bold as he was technical. Now 23, I was an enigma to my family. Never have they seen me with a boyfriend or any boy of that sort. I was clear on telling them my sexual preference of men when questions were hinted at, but the romantic aspect remained as dry as it had ever been.

Boys had always been a bore, men were all the same. Dull, foolish, _predictable_ men. I had heard the pick-up lines, smooth talk, and had seen the male gender at both it's best and worst. There was nothing that excited me, nothing that made me want to commit- especially when all their problems could be solved with a pint. There had been a time when I had thought I must be interested in women but I wasn't. It seemed I was sexually robotic, or just too picky. I think it's a little of both.

I didn't mind being alone though. The company of me, myself and I was when I felt most relaxed. People bothered me, and most times I just wanted to yell at them to shut-up. The most annoying thing in the world was small-talk, a polite courtesy I had never been able to grasp. I said what I thought without holding back, my brother and I were alike in that way. We also shared the same, thick, wavy copper colored hair and extended height. I was 5'7' while he stretched a little over 6 feet. But his skin was tan from his many beach days, mine was a pale from my many inside days. There were something I just didn't get- and one of which was frolicking around in the sand.

I was the definition of an introverted person. I looked forward to spending the day inside with my paints, nothing but the sound of my brush strokes and the soft hum of the radio. My mother joked I was the problem child. She was right.

Ever since my childhood I had sensed something wrong with me, I was different than the other children- it both relieved and frightened me. I didn't flinch during scary movies, or cringe away from bugs. Never did I scream, and I couldn't remember the last time I cried. I felt...still inside- like all my emotions were at the same level. Zero. I lived with the belief that I had been extremely mature in my youth and refused any other explanations. But something I couldn't explain was my odd and uncanny skill of spotting a liar. An upturn of a lip, eyes darting away for the quickest of seconds, a quick blink and _somehow_ I had always seen it. Spotting a lie was as easy as taking a breath.

As rain rolled down the windows, I leaned back against the leather of the seat and wondered if I was lying to myself by thinking that I would like it on Baker Street.

_It'll be good here, _I thought as the cabbie pulled up in front of the door next to a quaint establishment called _Speedy's Café_. I felt a nervous jolt in my stomach as the wooden, dark green door opened to reveal a small woman in her 60's- donning a plum colored dress and a friendly smile standing in the doorway.

_I'll find a job, and maybe go back to school once I get things going again, _I repeated as I payed the cabbie and stepped out into the cold rain- pulling up my hood quickly.

_It's a nice neighborhood, I'll be safe here and my life will get back to normal, _I hoped as the cabbie handed me my suitcases said a goodbye. I said my thanks and swallowed hard, not being able to return the smile Mrs. Hudson was giving me.

"Evelyn Scott?" she said curiously, peering at him through the hazy streams. I nodded and struggled to get a grip on my suitcases while the cab zipped away behind me in a splash of tainted city water. Her sweet smile widened, "Come in dear, before you catch a cold!" she waved me in, a buttery glow behind her- I could see a staircase and smell the warmth. I climbed the steps and ducked out of the rain.

_I'll like it here,_ I thought. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I wouldn't, my thoughts sounding unsure to my own ears.

**Just a simple introduction. Review if you think I should continue. In order for a woman to even entangle herself with Moriarty, they have to have something in common. I'm making Evelyn out to be the type of woman who doesn't scare easily- hope you all can get that! Don't worry, she isn't a Mary-Sure. I'm not from Britain so I apologize if my language isn't spot-on. There's a picture of her on my profile. The beginning of this story is before John, but it will eventually take on the events of the show : )**


	2. Skull on the Mantlepiece

_The Man with the Skull on the Mantlepiece_

I was forced to listen to Mrs. Hudson go on and on about how wonderful Baker Street was as we ascended the old, creaky staircase.

"First time in London?"

"Oh, you'll adore it here, it's nice and quiet...well, most nights anyways."

"I haven't been able to rent out C for I don't know how long, it's just not as cheery as one would like. No bird's-eye view if you know what I mean. Well, I suppose you do, you've seen the pictures haven't you? I was quite surprised to been rung up about it in fact, haha, oh my, don't let me discourage you, my dear."

I responded to it all with a small smile, my suitcases feeling heavier and heavier with each step. We arrived at a landing, the dusty red carpet silenced our footsteps as she guided me further. The wallpaper here was different than the bland, beige I had seen at first; the walls were lit up with a canvas of swirling oranges all over a dark crimson surface. Along with the authentic wooden stairs and floor, it gave the wall a much classier look. At the end of the short landing was another dark, emerald door with the dull golden letters that marked it as 221B. To the right was a sharp turn that led upwards further. Mrs. Hudson gave me a brief description, her tone was fonder: "You don't have very many neighbors, there's me-" she pointed to the door closest. 221A.

When she pointed to 221B, she uttered a small giggle that caught my attention.

"And Mr. Holmes. He keeps to himself, that one- always so busy, but smart, _very_ clever. I sometimes think he can read minds, seems to notice everything. Poor thing, I have to clean up after him but _I'm not his house keeper_, something I have to remind him often of. I would tell you to pop in but-" she lowered her voice as we passed, I skimmed the door with faint interest and wondered who lurked inside. "He's not the social type. Sweet boy, very sweet, but a bit different."

It seems being different was something we had in common.

No sooner had we passed Mr. Holmes' flat when Mrs. Hudson started again; telling me about the other tenants. I found myself pondering about Mr. Holmes. Very smart and clever, seeming to notice everything- it was as odd description of someone and I pictured a tall, grumpy man with a large spectacles magnifying his eyes to the size of saucers. But my thoughts were broken off when a loop of keys clanged loudly in Mrs. Hudson's wrinkled hands. But they didn't shake, which led me to believe she was still strong in her years.

"Here we are, your new home." she voiced with forced confidence. Obviously she wanted me to look more excited than I actually felt. My expectations were not high, as I had seen the pictures. Somehow, it was more dreary in person.

The door swung open to reveal darkness, a blackness I had no fear of and slowly stepped inside. Mrs. Hudson scolded to herself and fumbled for the light switch- when it clicked, a short staircase was illuminated. It led down, but of course I knew 221C was a basement flat. 10 steps down I had reached the bottom, Mrs. Hudson behind me. Taking in the heavy, damp air through my lungs, I gently laid my baggage down and looked around. The creamy white wallpaper was peeling in the dirty corners, and wasn't so pure in color anymore. Cobwebs lined the ceiling along with a fine layer of dust. To my left there was a sink and stove set from the 80's with a tall refrigerator that nearly scraped the ceiling, the flat's only window was streaky and grimy and was located above the sink. The floor was a cold hardwood with many scuffing. Evidently someone had spruced the place up some, the one couch before a boarded up fireplace was new and most dust-bunnies were batted away. Mrs. Hudson seemed to have gathered that I wanted to observe in silence, she followed behind me quietly.

I spotted a door with a rusty silver handle and thought of my bedroom. Opening it, it revealed more blackness but I groped for the switch. It was easily 18 by 20, larger than I had hoped. My bed had clean sheets draped over an old mattress, the dresser that was squished in had been cleaned and I immediately thought of what it would look like littered with my paints. The desk was bulky but wide, accompanied with a small stool. There was no closet, the small amount of clothes I had would have to be placed in the drawers of the dresser. I was lucky the flat came with such furniture, because I had sold all of my own for extra cash to add into my emptying bank account.

There was no bathroom, I had to use the one upstairs that Mrs. Hudson held privately. She also said I could use her washer and dryer. I was beginning to like her, and didn't feel like screaming when she started talking again. She told me the water would be turned on tomorrow morning, along with the gas line for me to cook. I lived off prepackaged products so cooking really wasn't a issue. As a welcoming present she gave me her old radio that I was pleased with and I propped it on my dresser. I swung my suitcases down with a plop on my bed, Mrs. Hudson was chatting from the living room: telling me she could help with the cleaning or find someone who would do it for free. I had objections to this, if someone was going to clean my flat- it would be me.

"That's alright, Mrs. Hudson- just hand me a suds bucket and I'll scrub this place down. It's only the walls mostly anyways, there's no carpet thankfully; I can avoid vacuuming." I replied hastily, she broke off and smiled at me in an oddly maternal way.

"Alright, dear- we'll get you sorted out tomorrow, but until then you're welcome to stay with me until the dampness in here is gone. I know it must be awfully depressing down here..."

I panicked, "Oh no, Mrs. Hudson, I'm fine here- I've never been afraid of the dark."

She laughed at this, "Whatever's okay with you. I'm making a roast for supper, I'll bring you down some around 6PM." now she had turned and was maneuvering towards the stairs. I wasn't hungry and I doubted I would be in an hour, but I couldn't refuse her friendly gesture now.

"That would be smashing, thank-you." I called out to her, unrolling my navy blue scarf from my neck. She waved my words away like they were pesky flies and slowly went up the steps. Thinking of something suddenly, she stopped halfway on her journey and turned back with a frown.

"Oh, and dear?" she said, I looked up from unbuttoning my damp jacket curiously.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Hudson?"

"If you hear any strange noises, or small explosions- don't fret, it's just Mr. Holmes, he experiments quite a bit. Well I guess it's because there's so much going on in his head, but I'm just letting you know...nothing to bother yourself over."

I blinked, yet another mysterious addition to the perplexed Mr. Holmes. Now I was getting the impression that he was a mad scientist. Odd, he was curiously a very odd man already. I didn't hold back from judging people, usually I was right.

"You won't hear any complaining from me." I assured her, she looked relieved and exited the flat in her own pace. Of course I wasn't going to be one of those tenants who expects peaceful quiet all the time, I fully realized that there were other people living their lives. In that way, I guess one could say I was the perfect person to have as a next-door neighbor. Whatever the elusive Mr. Holmes had going on in his little flat, it was none of my business and I didn't care enough to make it so that it would be.

I shivered once my black jacket was off, crossing my arms and simply looking around. Everything was so bare, I itched to cover every surface with something to mark it as my own. I would be lying if I said that I felt guilty about not job hunting, but I procrastinated and promised I would spend tomorrow doing so. The only thing to calm my nerves and settle the jitters of moving was my art. Turning off the main light, I had to hop up the stairs and get the switch Mrs. Hudson had clicked previously. I just stood in the darkness for a moment: hearing the patter of rain and seeing the dull glow of the window and the light in my bedroom. It wasn't that bad. I didn't tumble down the steps, I feet seeming to know each one. One might keep the light on but I wasn't one to waste electricity and hitch up my bill that would come back to haunt me if I wasn't careful.

One suitcase I unpacked quickly. My shirts I put in the top drawer of the dresser, my pants in the second, my two pairs of P.J's in the third and my undergarments in the fourth. That left the last drawer to my imagination, I decided my sketch books would be stored there as well as my pencils. My paints would have to be neatly arranged on my desk. I had no lap-top or computer, so that left lot's of room on my desk for the future. My toothbrush and tooth paste I left in a plastic bag on the top of the dresser, my hairbrush and lack of products were also placed there. I hung my jacket on the nail on the wall and stared on my second suitcase that was filled with old drawings, paintings, brushes and paints themselves. Soon my desk was reaching it's limits, I was even willing to arrange the paints according to color.

20 minutes later, I could confidently say I was moved it and whipped out my cell phone to call Billy. My parents were out of reach in the Carribean somewhere, so I couldn't call and chat about my amazing living arrangements just yet. I was pleased to see I had service, the bars on my I-Phone were 3/4 from being full. It was ridiculous, the amount of effort my brother put in to making me keep up with the times. He had gotten me the phone for Christmas last year and I barely used it, except to answer his texts and phone-calls. Out of my 3 contacts, Billy was the most frequently used. Although I admit I was obsessed with Angry Birds for a while.

I laid down on my bed and studied the decaying ceiling as I waited.

Three precise rings later...

"Hello there, sis." he answered in his cheerful voice that brought back memories of our times playing in the house. Being around Billy made me feel normal, I laughed and smiled without forcing myself to- he was the cure to every ailment I had. Suddenly I wished he was here with me, to scold the flat and insist on taking me out for coffee. Even if that meant he had to bring Cedric, an ignorant, brazing, loud-mouthed 21 year old, born and raised in Colorado who had moved to the UK for adventure... I didn't like him and he didn't like me, but my brother loved him and adored his annoying American accent.

"I'm all moved in, Billy- 221C is my new home." I sighed, already feeling like this would be a long call. He laughed on the other end and I felt the corners of my lips turn up at his girlish giggle.

"You sound pretty defeated about that, and don't say I didn't warn you. I told you when you showed me the pictures that it looked like a ratty old attic."

I recalled how defiant he had been about me taking the place, even at the low rent. My brother was never very logical, Cedric was defiantly the one to keep his head below the clouds.

"I couldn't care less if it was a dumpster for Christ sakes, as long as it's a place for me to get back on my feet." I replied, he sighed on the other end.

"So you've found a job?"

"Well now you're just making me feel guilty."

"Just apply to McDonalds or Starbucks, I'm sure you can nab it."

"I am _not_ working at McDonalds and I think If I put on another pot of coffee I'll puke."

"You say_ I'm _the picky one."

I laughed in an exasperated way, but in truth I knew he was right. I couldn't afford to have such nitty gritty demands. Literally.

"I'll find someplace." I said faintly, not sure if I would be so lucky.

"Well as long as I don't see you on a street corner. You're tough, sis, but not _that_ tough."

My mouth feel open and I felt like punching his arm, "I wish you were here so I can strangle you."

His laugh was louder and I had to put the phone away from my ear. I heard Cedric in the background, yelling something about how long the maccaroni should be on the stove. My brother shouted back a reply. Billy knew how to cook almost as well as he knew how to get under my skin.

"All I'm implying is to just make sure to broaden your search. It's London, sis, there's tonnes of jobs to be had."

"I just hope I can get one of them."

"I would come and help if I wasn't an hour and a half away, and if Cedric and I weren't helping out in the city greenhouse tomorrow."

Another thing about Cedric that I didn't like, his blasted green thumb.

"Oh, I bet you are. When are you going to tell him you hate gardening?" I was flabbergasted by how someone could go out of their way to please someone else, but on second thought- I knew I would do it for Billy.

"He puts up with all my shit, it's the least I can do for him. You'll know what I mean once you find that special person. When is that going to happen by the way?"

My teeth cringed together, damn him as his ability to change topics so quickly.

"You know me." I replied.

"Of course, I should have remembered you're sexually stoic." he said annoyingly.

"I just don't see the point." I shrugged, I could practically see his eyebrows furrow on the other side.

"The point in relationships or sex?" he questioned. I didn't feel like going into a full blown discussion and was anxious to end this conversation.

"Can we talk tomorrow? I'm pretty tired." The yawn was an overkill and I knew he didn't buy it.

"Yeah, alright. But just remember, sis, you can't wiggle your way out of everything."

"Goodbye, Billy."

"Bye."

Once that was over, I tossed my phone down and rose from the bed. My brother couldn't begin to understand how I felt when it came to relationships. If I was going to have one, it would have damn well happened already. _There isn't anybody out there for me_, I thought as I reached for my sketch book. It was both troubling and relieving. Troubling due to the fact I would probably die a virgin and reliving in the light that it didn't make me like everyone else. They could keep both their heartbreak and lovey dovey feelings. I was content with knowing that no one would ever get to me like that, not even Billy.

An half-hour later my first knock came at the door. I jumped up from the drawing I had been doing of Baker Street and hurried to the door. It had to be Mrs. Hudson with her roast. And there it was in her hands, a hefty plate covered in tin-foil to preserve the heat.

"Here you go, dear. I want to see that plate licked clean, you look awfully peaky." she handed to me and I was surprised by it's weight. Slightly irritated, I bit my tongue and keep away the fact that I wanted to tell her to mind her own bassness.

"Thank-you, Mrs. Hudson." I replied, some gravy snaked it's away from underneath the foil and dripped onto the floor.

"Not a hitch, Ms. Scott- can I call you Evelyn?"

I nodded and wondered if I would get to learn her first name. Apparently not. I denied eating with her and retreated into my basement flat, that felt oddly relaxing now. I sat on the couch and unraveled the culinary masterpiece. Potatoes, turnip, and multiple slices of roast poked out everywhere, all covered in a warm sheet of gravy.

"Jesus." I muttered, taking the fork in my right hand and skimming the gravy over the meat. I suddenly felt guilty about my earlier thoughts concerning Mrs. Hudson. She was a kind lady that seemed to take it upon herself to make sure I got off well. It was like my mother all over again, and I smiled amusingly as I popped a steaming piece of potato into my mouth. It was delicious as expected.

By the time I had finished, my stomach was surely going to burst. I covered the plate with the remaining the tinfoil and decided I would give it back to her in the morning. My own food supply would have to be restocked also in the morning. Tomorrow was going to be awful. Now actually tired, I decided to retire. My P.J's consisted of grey sweat pants and a large, purple, frayed t-shirt. I tied my hair back in an elastic and found myself too lazy to go brush my teeth. My drawing was incomplete as I tossed it on my desk. It consisted of my first look of Baker Street- the door was outlined and the stone detailed.

Turning off the light, I was completely in darkness. My knee got a good knocking from bumping into the bedpost and I fumbled for my phone to light the way. The bed-sheets were comforting and I had no trouble sinking into them, the heavy burdens on my mind were already lifting. I set a brief alarm for 7AM and clicked it off. The locking sound hung in my mind for awhile.

It was all so _quiet_ and _empty._ I loved it.

Loud thuds shook me awake. For a moment I was puzzled, thinking it must have been knocks. It took me a few moments when I opened my groggy eyes to realize that it was gunshots.

_Bam Bam Bam._

My eyes widened, "Oh, shit!" I exclaimed, sitting up in bed and immediately thinking of a robber. Light from the window had flooded into the kitchen/living room area and soon everything about Baker Street was brought back to me. I tapped my phone, it was 6:17AM in the morning. And odd time for a break-in but I shuddered all the same. I recalled what Mrs. Hudson told me about Mr. Holmes and his experiments, but I highly doubted that it involved shooting a gun. _That could blow the head off somebody_.

Instead of calling the police, I found myself rising from bed and entering the main room. The shots had stopped briefly and I found myself horrified to think that someone might have been killed. The notion that Baker Street was a nice place to live was fleeting now. Rapidly.

My footsteps slowed on the stairs, each more cautious than the last. After 5 minutes without gunfire, I decided it was safe to creak open the door and peak my head out. Everything _looked_ fine, I could hear the distant tick of a grandfather clock. As soon as I took a step into the hallway, one shot sang out. It was muffled, as was the rejoice that followed afterwards.

"Fuck!" I felt startled, my hand gripping the doorknob tightly. It was coming from 221B, there was no mistaking. Swallowing any doubt, I found my courage and walked fully out into the landing and down the set of steps. 221B loomed in front of me. What was in there? _Who?_

The mystery of Mr. Holmes had come to a boil and I couldn't stop my hand from balling into a fist- knocking three times on the door, paint chips fell from it's corners.

"Mr. Holmes? Are you alright in there?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from a shout. In a second the door swung open quickly. A man stood before me, easily as tall as my brother. He had short, shaggy dark brown hair that fell in front of his forehead and sharp, blue eyes. He was dressed in navy blue dress pants and a light grey dress shirt. But most importantly, in his pocket was a small handgun. I took a step back and eyed it, feeling confused.

"Yes, Ms. Scott- I'm perfectly fine." he answered breathlessly, like he was annoyed in some way. His voice was deep and his accent as smooth as honey. _This_ was Mr. Holmes? A young man in his 20's no doubt, I couldn't grasp it. I was so surprised that he knew my name, I almost let him slam the door in my face. His eyebrows raised as my foot caught the door and I pressed it from closing. I eyed him curiously, "I heard gun-shots..."

He rolled his eyes, "I assure you there has been no break-in."

"You mean _you_ _willingly_ shot off a gun..."

He thought for a moment, not comprehending the look I was giving him.

"Yes I suppose I did."

I looked at him like he was a nutter, "That's not exactly a normal recreational activity."

He sighed and left me at the door. Not knowing if I was being invited in, I let it swing open to reveal his flat. Books, paper, and objects were everywhere. It looked more like a messy library than anything else. He stood in front of a leather couch and pointed at the wall I couldn't see.

"Well come in and I'll show you," he said, I felt unsure of stepping inside but did so anyways. He was pointing to a wall, it had the same wallpaper as the landing did- except that there was a yellow happy face in graffiti on the corner. Small holes dotted the wall.

"A mere target practice of sorts, it's something I do when I'm terribly bored." he replied like it was obvious and that there was nothing wrong with it whatsoever. I saw that he was serious and that struck me as even more odd.

"At 6AM in the morning." I added, trying to comprehend it.

"I can be bored at any time of the day." was his quick answer. I shook my head, "Why would _shoot_ the bloody _wall?_"

He smirked, "A recreational activity. As it isn't the wall, it's the damnable face that irks me."

I looked at the yellow smiley face and saw a hole in it's eye. Next I wondered who on earth this person really was.

"Why can't you just paint over it?"

"That would require effort."

I clicked my tongue and crossed my arms, eyebrows raised. Mr. Holmes stuffed his gun further into his pocket and looked at me. But before he could ask me to leave, I asked my final question.

"How did you know who I was?" I asked, "You've never seen me before." Mrs. Hudson might have told him that "Ms. Scott" had moved in but that didn't explain how he knew me just by looks almost instantly.

"Judging by your appearance you've stayed overnight, and considering how Mr. Andrews is interested in men and that Mr. Dryden is too afraid to talk to women let alone have one over for the night- that leaves only one possibility. The new occupant of 221C, Miss Evelyn Scott." he said it all in one breath. I was speechless for a moment, but it was a sound conclusion.

"I see." I replied dully, he held out his hand formally.

"Sherlock Holmes, and I wonder how you knew my name as well."

I shook it uncertainly, my answer wasn't as impressive.

"Mrs. Hudson told me about you."

"Then you shouldn't be surprised to hear gun-shots coming from my flat."

I smirked, "I suppose not. I've learned my lesson." looking behind him I saw a skull on the mantelpiece that I questioned immediately. My tendency to not hold anything back sometimes came across as extremly nosy.

"Is that an actual skull?" my tone wasn't worried, it was curious. Sherlock looked back, "Yes it is, any other objects in my flat that you would like to question- Miss Scott?"

I knew that he was getting irritated.

"No, and you can call me Evelyn." I said, on my way out. He met me at the door and had it half-way closed before saying, "Good-day, Evelyn."

I just stood there for a few moments, wondering about Sherlock Holmes. He was an odd man, who shot at a wall for fun and had real bones lying about. As I went back to my own flat, I heard the other tenants stir upstairs for their day and thought to myself: _I have a feeling living on Baker Street will be interesting, very interesting indeed._

**My story will change some parts of the show to best fit it, just a warning. Not everything will be the same. Thank-you for the review, I appreciate it and hope you will enjoy the rest! Exams are almost over, so I suspect there won't be another update until then.**

**Looking forward to more reviews!** **Thanks.**


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